


Not Just a River in Egypt

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3580380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to 10x15 “The Things They Carried” Dean wonders why Sam never once objected to Cole calling him 'Sammy'. Angst-fest and some lovely bro-ments because... it's me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Just a River in Egypt

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Ok so clearly I couldn't get past the fact that Sam never ONCE corrected Cole when he called him 'Sammy' and 'Sammy-boy'. I mean, Sam has never allowed anyone but Dean to call him that. Ever. I decided there had to be a reason and Travis Wade's comment about Sam having Stockholm Syndrome where Cole is concerned got me thinking. So here you are. Lol
> 
> Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.
> 
> **Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!  
> ~Reviews are Love~

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Dean tossed his duffel onto his bed and listened to Sam down the hall. He heard his brother sneeze and then head back toward the kitchen. Dean frowned and followed, putting off his shower until later. He sniffed his own shoulder as he took off his jacket and shrugged. He didn't smell that bad after the impromptu sweat lodge with Cole. While there had been nothing specific that he could put his finger on, he had had an uneasy sense of something being “off” with his brother ever since they had started this last case, a vague tension that did not seem to have any real focus. Time to find out what was up.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean called as he turned into the kitchen and found his brother filling the coffee pot at the sink. “Thought you were gonna grab some shut-eye.”

Sam shrugged and turned off the tap. “I will later.” He didn't really feel much like sleeping just then and filled the coffee maker slowly.

“Uh huh.” Dean watched Sam's stiff shoulders for a moment and leaned against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. “What's goin' on?”

“What do you mean?”

Dean quirked a brow when Sam didn't even turn to look at him. “Ok, let's start with how you didn't jump Cole's shit even once for callin' you 'Sammy'. That ain't right.” He watched Sam go still and knew he was on the right track when his brother dribbled water down the side of the coffee maker onto the counter for a moment. “Sam.”

Sam shook himself and stared at the spilled water. He scowled down at it. “It's... it's nothing. Just a name, right?” His mind seemed to have come to a screeching halt, and all he could was stare at the wet counter.

Dean's sense of something off came at him full-force and he went to his brother. He carefully pried the coffee pot out of Sam's hand and set it aside. “Sammy. Dude, look at me. Come on. Talk to me.” There was definitely something wrong.

Sam shook his head and forced his eyes up from the counter to meet Dean's concerned gaze. “I uh... I dunno. I mean I'm...”

“You're not fine, so don't even start. Geez, if I'd known you were gonna have a meltdown, I never would have asked. Sit down already.” Dean didn't like the pale skin or the dazed look in Sam's eyes and tried to tug him toward the table.

“M'fine. Stop. Knock it off.” Sam pulled to free his arm, and when Dean maintained his grip as he pulled Sam toward the chair it drove a wedge of unreasoning panic into his chest. “Let go! Dean, stop! Stop!”

“Whoa! Whoa!” Dean released Sam's arm and watched in surprise while his brother's shout echoed in the kitchen. Where the hell had THAT come from? Yeah, Sam may have seemed a little tense on the hunt, but nothing like this. He recognized the signs of impending panic – not something he often saw in his brother, especially when there was nothing about to eat one or the other of them, and usually not even then. “It's ok. Sammy, you're fine, alright?” He spoke to Sam like you would a wild animal or a scared child -- softly, slowly, and making sure to not make any sudden movements. He couldn't help but draw a parallel between Sam's behavior now and the way he had acted in that warehouse years ago when Lucifer had been riding shotgun in Sam's head and nearly drove him insane. It was that level of fear he could see chasing across his brother's eyes, and after all the talk of PTSD on the case, he briefly wondered if Sam was having some kind of hell flashback out of the blue. God knows, he could understand that. Even now, almost 10 years later, he still had nights where he woke up biting back a scream from his own memories haunting his dreams. But this seemed to come literally out of nowhere and not from any dream.

“Shit.” Sam blew out a breath and covered his face with his hands. He backed up until he felt the counter at his back and leaned heavily against it while he tried to slow his ragged breathing. “What the hell?” he breathed out and dragged his hands up and back through his hair, pulling it away from his face. He looked as confused by his own reaction as Dean felt.

“Ok.” Dean moved over and leaned against the counter beside Sam, close enough that their shoulders were touching in a silent offer of support and so Sam wouldn't have to look at him while they talked, because they were damn well going to talk. “Talk to me, little brother. What's goin' on with you?”

Sam took a few deep breaths and tried to order his fractured thoughts. “I, uh... I'm not sure.”

“All I did was ask why you let Cole call you Sammy. You haven’t let anyone do that without bitching since you were 15.” Dean turned his head and watched Sam's eyes close and his breathing pick up again. “What's got you so freaked out?”

Sam shook his head and didn't answer. He swallowed convulsively once and then again as his stomach threatened to overrule him.

“It's something about Cole. I know you guys didn't exactly get off on the right foot, and believe me, man, if I could go back and kick his ass for kidnapping you I would.” Dean shrugged. “Though demon me did a pretty good job of layin' the smackdown on his ass.” It still burned him that as a demon he hadn't cared. He vividly remembered that phone call and the sound of Sam's voice shouting in agony. Equally as vivid was the way he hadn't cared, had laughed and hung up with no concern for the fact he might have been sealing Sam's death. Even worse was the memory of thinking it might have been fun to be there to watch. It still woke him up at night sometimes, and he had never asked Sam what had happened that day. At first he hadn’t cared, and then time had passed before he was human again and other things had needed to be dealt with, and the subject had never really come up. Now that he thought about it, he realized now was the time.

“Sammy, what'd he do to you?” Dean gave his brother's shoulder a soft nudge with his own. “When he kidnapped you. What did he do?” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I'm guessin' he didn't exactly make tea and cookies.”

Sam opened his eyes and focused on the old tile at his feet as he calmed his breathing. “No.”

“I know he hurt you. I heard when…” He trailed off choking back his own guilt. This wasn’t about him. “But you seemed alright with him,” Dean observed softly. “I mean, you were even nice to the guy. So you two hugged it out or somethin' and he said he was sorry or whatever, right?”

“No.” Sam gave his head a little shake. “It's... it never came up really.”

Dean shot him a surprised glance and made a mental note to have a little 'chat' with Cole if they ever saw him again. “Really.”

“No big deal. It's in the past,” Sam said, but even he wasn't sure of that just then.

“Bullshit,” Dean said, unknowingly echoing his brother's thoughts. “Come on. Talk to me, kiddo. What did he do?”

The memories of the many hours Sam had spent alone with Cole and tied to that chair flew through his head and he swallowed hard again. “He... I never should have let him get the drop on me. I was stupid.”

Dean scowled and heard Sam's breathing pick up again. “You were in a bad place, dude. I get that, and he preyed on you.”

“He sabotaged my car and then showed up offering to help me fix it.” Sam shook his head angrily at himself. “I should have seen it, but I missed it. And then he knocked me out and I woke up tied to a chair.” He felt the angry jerk in Dean's body beside him. “He's a good guy now, remember?”

“I'm trying to.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face and pushed the anger away. “What else?”

Sam shrugged awkwardly. “Nothing. Just the usual beat down, you know?” He grimaced when his shoulder began to ache in remembered agony and put a hand to it. “We’ve both lived through worse.”

Dean didn't miss the gesture and recalled suddenly that Sam's arm had been in a sling at the time thanks to a demon hunt gone wrong with Castiel. “He hurt your shoulder.”

Sam snorted a derisive laugh. “Hurt it more. Broken shoulder's kind of a bulls-eye for the guy torturing you.” He snapped his mouth closed as those last two words fell into the air and sighed when he felt Dean shift beside him. “Dean...”

“He tortured you,” Dean said it softly and was horrified remembering the painful cry he had heard and wondering how much longer it had gone on after he had hung up the phone. He turned and looked at Sam, really looked at him, and things began to fall into place for him, though he still didn't have the whole picture. He remembered his brother at the bar when Cole had arrived for his beat down, and Sam had looked like hell but had otherwise been in one piece. That meant Cole had gone for methods that kept the blood on the inside, and Dean knew from experience, those were almost worse. Especially when you already had an easy-to-access injury to exploit. “Jesus, Sammy.”

“It's ok. Got my shoulder re-set after... you know, once you were... you again. Cas made me.”

“He did something right then.” Dean reached out and rested a hand on Sam's right shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze like an apology for not being there. His warm fuzzies for Cole were definitely not as warm as they had been at the cabin. Whatever the reason, and no matter that Dean understood it, Cole had tortured Sam for the sole purpose of hurting him. He didn't do it for information; he did it because he was Dean's brother and he could and that just pissed him right the hell off. “I'm sorry, Sammy.”

“It's over, Dean,” Sam whispered and tried to make himself accept that.

“So he...” Dean stopped and shook his head. “He did things I'm gonna kick his ass for later, but you got away. You beat him.” He thought he was pointing out something to make Sam feel better and frowned when Sam's face fell.

“No, I didn't.” Sam brought his eyes up and forced himself to look at Dean. “He let me go so he could follow me to you. I mean, I thought I got away.” Sam ran a hand through his hair again in frustration and had to drop his eyes. “First I was bait for you; and when that didn't work, he made me think I was escaping so I could lead him right to you, and I did. He played me. I never got away.”

“Sam.” Dean gave his brother's shoulder a little shake and did not like the way Sam had phrased that. It was way too reminiscent of the words Sam had heard from Lucifer in his head all those years ago. “Yeah, you did.” Dean’s voice was firm. “I don't care how it happened. You got away. You found me. You pulled my ass outta the fryer, man, and that's all you. You got away. You hearin' me? What is it that's still gnawin' at you?”

He thought back to every time Cole had called his brother 'Sammy'. It was a nickname that only Dean was allowed to use, or it had been until Cole. It was one of those things that gave him a warm feeling each time Sam would slap at anyone else who used it, and Dean remembered far too many times when he had purposefully held back the use of that name as a way to let his brother know he was pissed at him. Sam should have been pissed. He should have told Cole where he could stick it every time he said it. The more Dean thought about it and tried to remember his brother's face on each occurrence, the more worried he became.

“He keeps callin' you 'Sammy,'” Dean said softly, watching Sam's face and it finally clicked because his brother was wearing the same expression now that he had each time Cole used it. He was blank. No emotion showed on his face like he was carefully hiding what he was feeling. Sam was afraid. “Crap.” Dean squeezed his brother's shoulder tighter and put his other hand on his arm.

“Dean?” Sam frowned in confusion at the strange look suddenly on Dean's face.

Dean took a moment to order his thoughts and find a way to say it that wouldn't piss Sam off. “Bobby used to tell me this story. He had this dog when he was a kid, real friendly thing, but it'd just freeze anytime someone with boots came near him.”

“Dean, why are you telling me about a dog?” Sam asked, confused. He tried to move away but Dean held him still.

“Just shut up and listen.” Dean nodded when Sam stopped and waited. “Bobby said the dog had been abused before he got it, and that no matter how nice he was, every time that dog saw boots, he froze. He was terrified of gettin' kicked again.”

Sam's frown deepened and he stared at his brother. “Dude, did you just... are you comparing me to a dog?”

“Sam, he tortured you and I know that screwed with your head,” Dean said it fiercely and kept his grip on his brother firm. “After everything you've been through, there's no way that didn't screw with you. And I was AWOL, and you knew I wasn't comin' for you. You were alone, man.” Dean sighed and shook his head. “You didn't correct him, 'cause some part of you's still afraid he's gonna kick you.”

“I'm not... Dean, that's not...” Sam trailed off and stared down at the floor again, letting everything Dean had said filter into his mind. He thought back to each time Cole had called him 'Sammy'. Each time he had bristled at first and then shut himself down, turning away without saying a word. Each time he had heard Cole's voice, looked at his face, he flashed back to all those hours with nothing but pain burning through him and the hopeless knowledge that, this time, Dean was not going to burst through the door and save him, and through it all, Cole's voice in his ear -- _“Come on, Sammy boy. I know you can scream louder than that.”_

Sam shuddered and felt his heart racing. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Dean blew out a breath and moved to lean beside his brother again. “We ever run into him again and he calls you 'Sammy', you knock his ass in the dirt and I got your back, man.”

Sam was surprised into a laugh and leaned a little into his brother's solid presence at his shoulder. He sobered quickly and took a deep breath. “I told him off once when he called me that.” He rolled his right shoulder out with the pain of the memory. “That was when he dislocated my broken shoulder.”

“Jesus.” Dean closed his eyes as he felt the rage from the Mark of Cain begin to rise up through him. He breathed through his nose and forced it back down until he could speak calmly again. “There's nothin' wrong with bein' a little messed up over what happened. You know that right?”

Sam nodded and leaned a little more heavily into his brother. He was tired; so tired. “Yeah, feels weak, though.”

“Well, it's not.” Dean smiled a little as Sam's weight against him increased. “You're not weak, Sammy. You're the strongest son of a bitch I know.” He glanced over and caught his brother's surprised expression. “Yeah, I know. I don't say shit like that.” He sighed and shrugged. “I should, though.” He slid an arm over Sam's shoulders and pulled him away from the counter toward the door. “Come on.”

“I was making coffee,” Sam protested but let Dean lead him out and down the hall.

“And now you've changed your mind and you're gonna get some damn sleep.” Dean's tone brooked no argument, and he led Sam to his room, giving him a gentle push inside. He watched while Sam pulled off his flannel and sat to kick off his shoes.

“Uh, Dean? Are you gonna stand there all night?” Sam asked and smirked.

Dean grinned and pulled the chair out from the desk. He sat down, leaned back and kicked his feet up on the end of his brother's bed. “Yep.” Dean reached a hand over and slapped off the light so the only illumination came from the hall. “Get some sleep, bitch.”

Sam was grateful the light was out or Dean would no doubt have seen the shine of tears of gratitude in his eyes. He sniffed, coughed, and rolled himself into his bed. His big brother was going to sit there in that uncomfortable chair so that Sam could hear him breathing and he could keep the nightmares away. “Dean. Thanks.” He smiled when one of Dean's booted feet kicked his foot in reply and closed his eyes.

“Night, Sammy.”

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_The End._


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